Auribus Teneo Lupum
by Anarchy Is Liberation
Summary: Out of some unspoken rule, Callidora and Neville Longbottom had avoided each other like the dragon pox. Sadly, it wasn't to last. [Harry Potter/Callidora LeStrange/Neville Longbottom]


Draco was pacing, managing to take three steps in each direction before running out of room in the moderately small space. The train swayed gently, a soothing back-and-forth motion that reminded her of when Uncle Rabastian would rock her to sleep after a particularly violent night terror.

"This is going to be terrible," he moaned dramatically, practically throwing himself onto the bench next to her. Callidora kept her eyes on the book her lap, a rather dry rendition of Extended Potions Theory by Severus Snape; her Uncle's 'colleague' and Draco's godfather. "Absolutely horrific," he continued, after pausing to wait for her to speak. He even shifted closer to her, and she could just make out wide blue eyes pouting in her direction.

"The worst," she agreed. "What will you do? What can you do?"

"That's not helping," he whined, flopping in the other direction, arms splayed. Callidora looked towards the door; the blind was drawn and she'd set a simple locking spell, but the reflex was automatic. As close as her family was with Draco's, her Uncle would throw a fit if anyone caught them this close.

"You don't have to do anything to be improper, Calli. People only have to say you are."

"Draco," she sighed, closing the book against her better judgement. Closing the book meant she was fully committed to the conversation, and Merlin only knew what would happen then. "You insulted him. You didn't mean to," she continued, raising her voice to be heard over his. "But you did. You're good at it. So apologize, like any normal person."

"Father says Malfoys never apologize," he sniffed, crossing his arms for emphasis.

"You're father also told you being Potter's friend was in your best interest," she countered. Then, softer, "We both know you want to be friends with him, Draco. I've no doubt that you'll need to be apologizing to him plenty, if you are. Might as well get some practice."

Draco's face scrunched up with displeasure, and Callidora opened her book back up, eyes locking onto a word halfway down the page. "Oh, fine," Draco sat back up, ran his hands down the front of his robe. "But you're coming with."

"Someone has to make sure you don't mess up," she agreed, snapping the book back closed and dropping it onto the bench beside her. Draco made an affronted noise that she ignored with ease. "Come on, then."

Callidora stood back, watching with amusement as Draco slid the door open. "Crabbe, Goyle. Lets go find Potter." The two Lower House Heirs fell into place at his heels, and she was more than happy to tag along behind them. She'd push her way to Draco's side when actually found the Chosen One, so she could pinch him if he said anything too stupid.

Draco walked down the aisles with a purpose, nearly beelining to a compartment near the back. Callidora raised an eyebrow at the speediness of it, but said nothing as she slipped between Crabbe and Goyle to stand at his side. He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, looking a little distressed. She gave him a small smile, shoulder brushing against his.

He took some courage from it and composed himself, sliding the door open with the same dramatic flair he did everything else in life. "Potter," he declared. "It's come to my attention that I may have acted rudely last time we met. I apologize."

"Oh, um. Yeah, alright." He nodded somewhat awkwardly, eyes darting from Draco to the boy sitting next to him - and oh, that wasn't good. Callidora pressed up against Draco's back, hoping he'd take some measure of restraint from it.

"Etiquette requires that you verbally accept the apology," she told him. "Nothing you'd have known, of course, but Draco will continue to apologize if you don't do it right." Callidora gave them the smile Aunt Narcissa had taught her, that seemed to sweep any rudeness or misdeeds under the carpet when used.

"Oh," he made a face, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Okay. I accept your apology, then?" It sounded more than a question than a declaration, but Callidora figured it would do.

"Witnessed," she announced, easing back from Draco.

"You won't have to do that with most people," Weasley declared, and Callidora could have cried. Honestly, she thought, do you have to make it a fight? "Not even most purebloods."

"Only the respectable ones," Draco snapped.

"Draco," she cautioned. He shot her a pointed look that she returned, eyes darting to raven haired boy. He followed her gaze to the uncomfortable looking Harry Potter.

"Right," he sighed. "I simply came to apologize, not start a fight," he left a potent silence, purposefully not looking at the Weasley boy. "Hopefully we'll have some classes together, Potter."

"Yeah, no. That sounds good."

Callidora made to turn, hoping to leave before anything else could be said when Crabbe let out a loud, horrible sounding fake cough. Goyle echoed it a second later. "Hide," Draco hissed, fairly shoving her into the compartment and slamming the door.

There was a moment of confused silence before she realized what must have happened. She took the spot next to Potter, ignoring his general bewilderedness. She flipper her hair onto her shoulder, using the brown cascade to cover her face from view just as the door slid back open.

"What -?" Potter started, just as a girl's voice broke over his. "What was that about?"

Callidora continued to look at the floor. "None of your business," Draco snapped. "What do you want?" She couldn't see, but she figured the girl was giving Draco a sceptical look. "Neville's lost his toad," she answered. Callidora froze, fingers tightening their hold on her robe before going lax. "Have you seen one?"

The Weasley boy made a noise of comprehension, and Callidora could only hope he'd stay quite. "No, now keep moving."

"Were you about to do magic?" the girl asked, completely ignoring Draco. "My name's Hermione Granger, by the way. I never knew about magic until a few weeks ago, but I've been ready all about it. Go on, then," she urged.

"Calli." She looked up, green eyes meeting Draco's blue-grey. "Come on." Callidora nodded, brushed her hands down her robe like Draco had done not ten minutes before, and rose.

"It was nice meeting you," she gave Potter a small but sincere-looking smile. He echoed the words, and she nodded to Weasley.

Draco offered his arm, the picturesque vision of a pureblood, and she gave a small laugh. Draco only ever offered his arm when he was trying to be sweet. She latched onto it gratefully. "Take me to our compartment, Draco." She demanded haughtily, sinking into the well-known dialogue.

"Certainly, Miss LeStrange," he agreed.

They would be at Hogwarts, soon, and they'd both need to prepare.

Out of the corner of her eye, Callidora could make out the figure of Neville Longbottom. She tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted with something ugly, but failed.

 _ **Auribus Teneo Lupum, or holding a wolf by the ears (in which doing something and doing nothing are equally risky)**_

No matter how many times she'd begged for stories about Hogwarts from her Uncle, he'd remained frustratingly quiet where it mattered. Some things, like his friends and the trouble they caused, poured as easily as wine from his lips. Other things, like the Sorting or the castle itself, dripped like molasses off a tree branch.

She was left standing in line like everyone else, nervous and expectant all at once. Draco was behind her, separated by three students. Callidora wished their names were more alike, so she could have him at her back, shielding her from Longbottom. For such a meek boy, his presence was looming.

Callidora lifted her chin, stoutly ignoring the whispers and outright pointing. Her childhood was well known, slapped across the pages of the Daily Profit whenever it could be. Rita Skeeter had taken a vast amount of joy in tediously detailing the life-and-times of the LeStrange girl and her Deatheater uncle.

Uncle Rabastian had lost whatever political clout the family had had in his desperate attempt to stay out of Azkaban, and Uncle Lucius was trapped to do anything. And so Callidora had been resigned to seeing her face in the papers, even doing something as mundane as shopping with Aunt Narcissa.

"LeStrange, Callidora."

The whispers raised into murmurs as she walked up the steps and sat on the wobbly stool. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, the soft as butter material slipped down on her curls until her eyes were covered.

 _Well, certainly different from your mother, aren't you? Not much of a Black at all._

Shoulders stiff, Callidora chose not to respond.

 _Well, Slytherin you want, isn't it? As good a fit as any._

 _Then put me there,_ Callidora thought, somewhat panicky at the idea of being sorted anywhere else. She'd never thought of it, really. Children tended to follow the sorting or their parents, or the people who raised them, like her Uncle. In any case, Callidora's was a long line of Slytherins.

 _So sure? Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad for you._

 _No,_ she thought back viciously.

 _"SLYTHERIN!"_


End file.
